Faith, Lost and Found
by HunterX14
Summary: A short introspective look into a possible future Faith. AU. Please R & R. (Minor revisions to a previously published story)


_An attractive brunette, hair pulled back in a single tail that reaches nearly halfway down her back, sits on a park bench. She's dressed in a charcoal colored suit with light gray pinstripes, the matching skirt reaching just below her knees, a light blue blouse, and a pair of black pumps. Her makeup is so minimal it's barely noticeable, just some mascara and a hint of pale blue eye shadow. She brushes a stray hair back with her right hand. The nails are all trimmed neatly and very short. She's more interested in the book lying in her lap than the eyes of the passersby who watch her with the fascination shown to every remarkable thing in their noonday lives. She stares at the book and hesitantly reaches her left hand out to open it. She smoothes the first page down with a light touch, almost a caress.  
_

* * *

The psychiatrists say that I have deep-seated problems that stem from something, but they're not sure what. They have a name for what they say I am, or is it what I have? Doesn't really matter. In either case, here I am. They say that writing down what I think and what I feel might help. At this point, I'm ready to try anything.

* * *

Every day I walk past them, the other people here. I make nice. I smile and nod and have inane conversations about the weather and whatever sports teams are in the headlines. They see me and talk to me, but they never really see me. In a different place, nobody would notice me. I'd just be another face in the crowd. Here, I stand out. I can't help it. I'm not one of them. It's like I'm an alien. Not that I don't belong here. I do.

It seems like they all want to be something other than what they are. I've been there and done that. Unfortunately it was being something else that put me here. It was so easy just to be that other thing, that other person. Now, I just want to be who I am, what I am, a Slayer. It's hard to do that when I'm incarcerated.

Whenever I have free time, which is often, I wonder how it all came to this. I know, I know. Killing and maiming aren't exactly socially acceptable and I get that. What I really mean is WHY?

* * *

Time passes here and I see things I never wanted to see. I've learned a lot here, but I still can't figure it out. The months have rolled by and there's been no epiphany. I still sit and wonder. Sometimes I try to imagine what it would be like if it was different. Then I catch myself and realize it really doesn't matter. It can't be different. I can't undo what's been done.

The doctors say this is an important realization for me. They say that maybe they'll be able to break through and help me find what's really wrong with me. Until then, I just sit and think and I learn. That's new for me. I'm taking classes and learning things I should have learned before. I wish school had been this easy the first time around.

* * *

Today, I sat and watched others people. I realized for maybe the millionth time that I'm not like them. I'm different. But I don't think it's exactly the same realization as before. I don't want to be like everyone else here. They're angry and frustrated and they're taking it out on each other. I don't want to fit in. I want to leave, to have a different life altogether.

That's when it hit me. They're very much like I was before I came here. They put on faces for others to see, hide themselves from view and do what they have to do to ensure nobody will get close enough to see the truth they are hiding.

* * *

Today, I think I finally understand. How long has it taken? Why now? What's different?

I placed all my emotional ties that I lacked from home onto the relationship with my watcher. When my watcher was killed, it was like I had nobody at all. I didn't have a home to go back to, so I became someone who didn't care about others or what they thought.

Then, I went to good old Sunnydale and I met Buffy. I thought for a while that I'd found my place in the world, but it didn't work out. The exterior I'd built wasn't easy to take down and before I really got the chance to try, her friends were rejecting me. Buffy tried to help me. I'll give her credit for that. She really tried to be my friend, but I fouled that up.

Staking the mayor's lackey was probably the icing on the cake. It was an accident. I didn't mean to do it. I just couldn't bring myself to let down the facade and have Buffy or anyone else see how it affected me. Still, I almost made it then.

Angel. How can a dead person be so sympathetic? Then again 240 years of life and having slaughtered his way across Europe is bound to give him some perspective. I really think he had me turning around then, but the great Watcher's Council dictated that I had to be brought in.

They treated me like an object, like their property. They didn't give me a chance to tell my side or to say anything. They played judge and jury and then sent me back to Sunnydale. By then, it was too late. I'd seen what they were like and I didn't want any part of it.

Buffy's friends simply reinforced my feeling that I was on the wrong side and so I chose another side. The mayor. Yes, he was as evil as they come, but he also saw me. He saw ME, not just a Slayer. He treated me like I'd imagined parents would treat their daughters, not that I had any good observations in my own life to verify that.

At first, I couldn't really think about hurting Buffy or the others, even if they were treating my like a leper. Over a period of weeks, it became easier to think about and finally became something I could act on. Even then, I was reckless. I can see that now. I did things in ways that made it possible for them to elude me or survive my attacks. I'm not sure I did this consciously. I'm not sure I feel that charitable about my intentions. In the end, I was almost proud of Buffy when she put the knife in me, but I couldn't let her have her full victory. I still had to hurt her for letting her friends hurt me. The whole coma thing, now that was a surprise.

If not for the mayor's little message he left me, I might have just run away then and disappeared, but I watched it and even from the grave he had a hold over me like no other ever had. I did what he wanted. It was then that I realized what it was like to be Buffy, as I literally was Buffy for a little while. Her life wasn't perfect and lovely all the time. I also realized that I hated myself and hated what I'd become. When I was myself again, I set out to find an end to my life, to my suffering. I failed. Or, maybe you could say I was successful.

That woman, supposedly Angel's friend, tried to pin all the problems on him and was willing to let him die in a cell. For a change, I thought of someone other than myself and I turned myself in. That pretty much brings me back to the here and now.

The hurt of rejection and alienation, of wanting to belong, but not being allowed to belong, was what brought me to this point. Well, that and an inability to ever let someone see anything other than my public face.

* * *

The doctors all say that my attitude is much improved and that I seem more at ease with people. I'm sure they're all congratulating themselves on a job well done. I suppose if they consider someone finding their own answers a success on their part then they must have done their jobs well.

On a bright note, I was told that because of my model behavior, I am being considered for early release.

* * *

Today is the day I step outside the walls again for the first time in more than two years. It's frightening and exciting at the same time. I don't know what I'm going to do. I guess that's not strictly true. I have one job and I can't run from it. Beyond that, I really don't know.

* * *

_She closes the book, having scanned through and read most of the important entries. It's been two years today. The calluses on her hand draw her attention briefly and she smiles. She has a job to do and she hasn't run from it. During the day, she performs her duties as a receptionist/executive administrative assistant. Other than fending off the advances of coworkers for the first few weeks, the job tended to be simple and paid surprisingly well. When anyone asks about the calluses or the scarring on her knuckles, she tells them she's into martial arts. She occasionally trains at a local dojo, but only enough to be sure people see her there and know that she's very capable and that she trains by herself most of the time. After all, how many people would believe that when darkness came she changed from a smiling lighthearted office worker into a lethal fighter of evil? Not many, fortunately. She looks at her watch and sighs. Lunch is nearly over._


End file.
